


Cruise | Brittany

by beyondcanon



Series: Cruise [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana wants something Brittany can't give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruise | Brittany

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of [my prompt challenge](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge) on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them.
> 
> By the structure of the challenge, each part of the Cruise series is a standalone, complete installment. I might add more to it at anytime; I suggest you subscribe in case there's more to come. :)

Days are always long in a cruise.

She’s in charge of all entertainment in the ship. It’s a whole lotta work, you know. There are schedules to sort out, activities to organize, guests to deal, and on top of that, classes to teach.

And there’s Santana.

Brittany smiles.

Security camera #33, right by the cafe, is not working.

No one would know if they snuck in after closing hours.

—

She looks around before entering.

She sets the table, cheese, bruschetta and red wine.

She stares at the clock, waiting.

—

“You’re late.”

Santana’s late but at least she’s gorgeous, indecent red dress hugging her curves. Brittany sips her beer, faking disinterest.

She’s got those pleading dark brown eyes, pretty eyelashes blinking at her. “I’m sorry, Britt, Quinn took too long in the bathroom—“

“I don’t care,” Brittany interrupts and slides further on the recliner.

“I’m sorry,” Santana repeats, this time in her ear, a slow whisper tickling Brittany’s neck. “I’m sorry,” one more time, kissing under Brittany’s ear, wet kisses on the curve of her neck.

She keeps her face stoic; there’s no need for Santana to know how much Brittany is sheer desire, panties wet to the thought of Santana.

Santana smells so good.

Brittany licks her lips. “I don’t like to wait.”

Santana’s tongue draws patterns, swirling and soothing after she bites and sucks. “I know.” Her palms run on Brittany’s shoulder, relaxing and convincing. “I wanted to look my best for you.”

Brittany grips her waist, hard and commanding.

Santana straddles her lap, always so compliant.

So  _eager_  to please.

Brittany sips her beer. “I don’t think you deserve what I brought.”

Santana’s hand falls to Brittany’s thigh, feeling the bulge, eyes growing wide in understanding, pretty lips forming a round  _oh_.

Fuck. That mouth should be put to a much better use.

Santana spreads her legs wider, dress riding up her thighs; she’s not wearing any panties. Brittany takes a sharp breath, mouth watering at the sight.

“Let me make it up to you,” Santana whispers in her ear. She reads Brittany like an open book already, arching against Brittany’s body, generous cleavage right in front of Brittany’s face.

“Let me make you come,” she whispers again, hips grinding down. She moans with the contact, repeating the movement. “Don’t you want to come in my mouth?”

“No,” Brittany answers, in spite of herself. She tugs Santana’s zipper down, releasing Santana’s breasts. She doesn’t touch; she leans away instead. “I want you to fuck yourself on my cock.”

Santana curses under her breath and nods, eyes shining in anticipation. Her hips rise so she can run her fingers through her folds and gather her wetness; her free hand pulls Brittany pants down just enough for the dildo to spring free.

She spreads her juices evenly, slowly, mouth parted open.

When she sinks onto it she whimpers and holds Brittany’s shoulders, making the sexiest face Brittany has ever seen. “God,” she breathes, biting her lower lip, “I’m so full.”

Brittany rests both hands under her head to avoid temptations.

“Show me you want it,” she says, voice raspy.

Santana groans under her breath, nodding, moving her hips for the first time. Her thighs ripple with the repeated effort, tensing; her chest rises and falls, eyes fixed on Brittany’s.

It’s hard to pretend she doesn’t want to fuck Santana all day, every day, to take  _everything_ , to have Santana completely.

“Britt,” Santana lets out a breathy moan, her left hand playing with her nipples as she sinks down on the cock. “Fuck, I’m so stretched.”

“Harder,” Brittany commands, mouth dry.

Santana happily obliges.

—

Santana’s back arching, the long moan she releases, the sweat dripping between her firm breasts; Brittany could watch her come forever.

“You’re so desperate,” Brittany says, still buried deep within Santana. She sits straighter and pulls them close against each other. “You came all on your own.”

“I’ve been good,” Santana whimpers, grabbing Brittany’s hair and hiding her face in the crook of Brittany’s neck. “Fuck me, Britt, please—“

Brittany buries her neck in Santana’s hair. She smells so  _good_.

“I’ll fuck you all right.” She says, one arm on Santana’s waist as she turns them over. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? A nice fuck.”

Santana’s eyes are closed; she nods, mouth parted. Brittany nudges her legs open, settling more comfortably.

“Do you want me to fuck you until you can’t walk, you can’t think, you can’t breathe?” Brittany growls, thrusting for the first time long and hard. “Until you can’t come anymore?”

Santana’s eyes open and she pulls Brittany down for a searing kiss. Brittany explores her mouth, all teeth and bite, hips never failing to move. “Mine,” she groans, joining their lips one more time.

Santana nods, always so  _willing_ , and Brittany wants to take her, to make her come undone. “Do you want to come, Santana?”

She rotates her hips and finds new angles. Santana moans her name, legs locked around Brittany’s waist to get her closer.

“Yes, Britt,” she begs, breath ragged.

Brittany fucks her harder, the harness rubbing against her clit. “Who do you belong to, Santana?”

“You,” Santana answers, hips rising to meet Brittany’s. She bites Brittany’s lower lip. “You,” she repeats.

“Good.” Brittany feels the sweat spreading through her body, the powerful ache of the effort, the tension on Santana’s thighs. “Then I’ll make you come as many times as you want.”

—

The cock lies forgotten on the ground.

Brittany’s lower back aches; she groans. Santana, naked on top of her, hums contentedly.

“That was good,” she says, voice coarse.

Brittany laughs, fingertips dancing on Santana’s waist. “I’m glad.”

“I can’t feel my legs.” Santana whimpers. “You’ve probably killed me.”

Brittany can’t resist tickling her. “Let’s test that theory.”

“Not fair!” Santana laughs and squeaks, squirming until she’s fallen to Brittany’s side. Brittany finally gives up so she can breathe.

God, isn’t she a gorgeous thing. Brittany kisses her, slow and wet.

—

She organizes the pool games and ignores Tina’s pointed stares.

She’s  _not_  losing control.

Santana’s who’s too tempting in a tiny black bikini, drops of water dripping over all the right places, emerging from the pool like a goddess, staring at Brittany like she  _knows_  the effect she has.

These are going to be some long two hours.

—

They are, actually, the longest two hours of Brittany’s life.

—

She loves the Pop Extravaganza, but goddammit if it isn’t the largest, most troublesome party in the entire cruise.

Women all over her, fueled by too many shots, and she didn’t even want  _anything_ ; all she sees is Santana grinding against Quinn. Worst scenario ever.

Some women pass out, as they always do, and she helps take them to the emergency room. She checks everyone’s schedules and the liquor stock. She talks to the dancers before they make their presentation. She does everything she needs to do.

Santana’s dancing with a group of ladies, nothing too insinuating.

Good.

She likes when Santana behaves.

—

She leaves the bar after the last shift.

She’s still buzzing with energy as she walks a few desert corridors, ears ringing from standing too close to the speakers, still wearing the leather skirt and suspenders that caught Santana’s eye.

When she opens the door to the room, Santana’s already stark naked  _and_  touching herself.

“You took too long,” Santana groans, one hand squeezing her breast and the other running through her folds.

Brittany’s mouth waters.

—

If there’s a heaven, Santana is  _it_ , naked and wet and spreading her legs for Brittany.

She lets out a raspy moan when Brittany takes the first lick on her glistening cunt, grabbing Brittany’s hair and arching her back.

Fuck if her desperation isn’t turning Brittany on.

Brittany lets her tongue delve deeper, long strokes to gather as much wetness as she can. She loves the softness, the sharp taste, working Santana up without touching her clit once, the weight of Santana’s thighs pressing down on her shoulders.

Santana has long stopped making sense, mumbling and cursing with eyes closed.

“Here comes number five,” she groans against Santana’s heat, sliding two fingers in and sucking on the clit; Santana’s already tightening against her fingers, warm and slick.

“Oh God, too much— Britt—Fuck, I’m going to come,” Santana whines, painful and needy and tensing after less than a minute, screaming and trembling and pulling Brittany’s hair _hard_.

Brittany groans, letting Santana ride the long wave until she’s collapsing and tugging Brittany up.

Sweaty and panting, Brittany lies by Santana’s side, licking her own lips. “You’re delicious.”

Santana laughs weakly, arm covering her eyes.

Brittany can’t resist. Her lips graze the shell of Santana’s ear. “I could eat you out every day.”

Santana sighs, biting her own lip. “You devil.”

“I’m cute,” Brittany answers, blinking as adorably as she can.

Santana turns to the side to look at Brittany, soft black hair cascading. “Do you mean it?”

Brittany frowns, confused. “What?”

“Every day?” Santana holds her breath. “After the cruise? We only have a few days left.”

Brittany sits up and runs a hand through her hair. “I thought we were on the same page.” She doesn’t look at Santana’s face. “I mean, this is a lesbian singles cruise. We’re just having fun, right?”

Santana’s jaw tenses and she gets up. “Right.”

She lets Santana leave because, really, there’s nothing she can do about it.


End file.
